


Ineffable

by agentgalahad



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Cameos, M/M, and references, everyone is a BAMF, like a lot, superpower au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentgalahad/pseuds/agentgalahad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/><em><strong>ineffable: </strong> too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words. </em><br/> </p>
<p>Snow globes were strange things. Eggsy didn’t understand them, but that only made him more fascinated by the swirling masses of artificial snow and the way their contents seemed to defy gravity. </p>
<p>Because, you see, Eggsy could defy gravity too.<br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epoch

* * *

 

_**epoch:** a period of time in a person’s life, the beginning of a distinct period of someone or something, marked by a notable event or characteristic_

 

* * *

  

Snow globes were strange things. Eggsy didn’t understand them, but that only made him more fascinated by the swirling masses of artificial snow and the way their contents seemed to defy gravity.

Because, you see, Eggsy could defy gravity too.

Eggsy read a picture book, once. It was titled _What Goes Up Must Come Down._ Inside were lots of colourful pictures of children throwing objects into the air—fruits, trainers, toys. And on the page after, there would always be a picture of the object falling to the ground, or into the arms of a waiting child.

His mum sometimes dropped things. Socks, for example. She was always dropping socks and pants on the carpet when she was carrying the laundry load from the dryer to the sofa, where she would fold them.

Eggsy dropped things too. His green triceratops. His trucks. Even the telly remote, once.

But they just never touched the ground.

He thought it was normal, the same way people who didn’t know they were different thought that everyone else was like them, too.

Then one time, while Eggsy was playing with his blue car in the living room, his mum knocked a glass off of their coffee table.

Without thinking, Eggsy blinked, head tilted, and stopped the glass midair—with the liquid spilling out of it frozen in place. Another blink, and time seemed to reverse itself. The liquid went back inside the glass with a _slosh,_ and the glass went back on the table with a _clink._

And Eggsy went back to playing with his car.

But Michelle stood and stared, eyes wide and mouth agape.

There was silence for a good few minutes, until Michelle took a hesitant step forward.

“Eggsy, luv? Eggsy, what did you just do?” she asked softly, approaching him slowly.

“I stopped the cup from breaking, mummy,” he answered nonchalantly.

“What do you mean, you… stopped it from breaking?”

At this, Eggsy pouted, annoyed, and turned his face up to look at his mum.

She had gone deathly pale. The christmas lights along the walls were like splotches of crayon and paint on her paper-white skin. Her hands were trembling.

And that was when he realized that maybe being able to control objects without touching them wasn’t so normal after all.

“Eggsy. Eggsy, luv, you can’t ever tell no one about this, okay?” she breathed. “Promise mummy that.”

“Mummy, is there something wrong with me?” Eggsy asked, suddenly frightened.

“No, Eggsy. There is nothing wrong with you. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you that there is. But you… are… special. Real special. And there… might be people. Bad people. Who’ll want your specialness. Or _won’t_ want your specialness. And those people might try to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Eggsy asked quietly.

“Oh, luv.” Michelle rushed to him, kneeling on the floor and hugging him so tightly that he thought she might explode him by accident. Like a balloon. He could explode them, too.

“I aren’t scared, mummy,” Eggsy said to her. “I aren’t scared of the bad people.”

“Oh, Eggsy, I know you aren’t, and that’s what _mummy’s_ scared of. So you stay away from bad people. And strangers. Okay? And never, ever let anyone know that you’re special. Promise?”

Eggsy promised.

That night, a man in a suit came to their flat and made his mum cry while Eggsy wondered how the snow in his snow globe didn’t fall to the bottom right away. He tried to keep it in place at the bottom, frowning. The man came over to him and wanted to know his name. He said hello. He asked to see the snow globe, and Eggsy let him. He had three more snow globes, anyway. The man shook it for him, and Eggsy almost kept the snow from moving around, but then he remembered his promise to his mum.

“You take care of this, Eggsy. Alright?” the man asked, producing a shiny object to him. Eggsy blinked at him, nodding. He was making a lot of promises these days. “And take care of your mum too.”

The man in the suit put a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, broad and warm, and gave him a little squeeze.

There was something sad in his deep, dark brown eyes as he got up.

Eggsy raised the shiny object for examination, holding it up. A sideways, uppercase _k._

“Mister,” Eggsy said, his back turned, right as Harry opened the door to their flat.

“Yes, Eggsy?”

“You’ve got a feather stuck ‘n the inside of your wrist.”

There was a pause.

“Thank you, Eggsy.”

“Happy Christmas,” Eggsy said, twisting around to smile at the man. He observed Eggsy silently, before _plucking_ the feather off and tucking it into his pocket.

“Happy Christmas,” the man echoed, before he disappeared into the night without a trace, like a wisp of mist in a cold breeze.

 

* * *

 

There was a time when Harry used to wish for a white christmas. That time was long gone. Now, all he wished for was a nice, quiet night in his favourite armchair and some bloody good whiskey. Sometimes— _and only sometimes—_ Merlin popped on over and they sat by the fireplace and they reminisced. Harry could only bear his company every other year because, well, Merlin was a numpty berk most of his waking hours. And given that Merlin practically ran on those ludicrous lucozade energy drinks, it meant he was a numpty berk almost all of the time.

Tonight was one of the skip years. So Harry sat alone in front of the crackling fire, his cheek perched on steepled fingers with a glass of amber liquid hanging loosely in his other hand.

Sighing loudly, he took an extended drink, rolling the burn around on his tongue before swallowing. He glanced at his hand. Pursing his lips, he placed the glass on a coaster, unbuttoned his cuff and rolled the shirtsleeve up.

He regarded his hand boredly as it began to transform, from human skin to iridescent scales with claws. To fur, gleaming silver. To nebulous black shadow. And to nothing at all—just empty air.

Shape-shifting for Harry was as easy as breathing. Effortless. A born talent. Gift. Blessing. Curse. It was an invaluable asset to him.  _Exceptional._

He sighed again, shifting back to his normal, human skin from what he liked to call ‘invisibility mode’, much to Merlin’s constant mirth. The bugger. He wasn’t the one who could turn invisible at will. Or into a bear. Or a tree. Or a mug of tea that could maintain a very, very hot temperature on the handle, lying in wait for an oblivious Scottish git to pick it up.

Of course, Merlin might get his revenge by electrocuting him or something trifling like that.

As the blaze danced on and the scent of myrrh filled the air, Harry’s mind drifted back to his meeting with the Unwin family.

He took another long drink.

Sucking his lower lip, he returned his attention to his hand, shifting partially into the form of a hawk’s wing and back. No feathers were left behind this time.

A tiny oversight like that could have cost him his life in the field. He’d been distracted. By… by the peaceful, simple domesticity of the Unwins that would never quite be the same again. His fault. But Lee had known what he was signing up for.

Harry was impressed that Lee's young son had even noticed the feather—it had been tucked in the shadows of his sleeve, really. Barely noticeable. Nonetheless, it was lucky— and remarkable— that little Eggsy had picked up such a tiny detail and pointed it out to him.

He slipped a hand into his pocket, rummaging gently for the feather. He froze when his fingers did not close around a feather, but a thin, cylindrical object.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand to find…

A crayon.

Bright green.

Harry exhaled noisily. A crayon inside his bespoke pocket! A bright green, wax crayon! He’d need to have it washed immediately.

His brows crinkled as he pondered the curious case of Eggsy Unwin. How had a mere child managed to steal the feather… out of his pocket… and snuck a crayon inside…

Extraordinary.

Harry drained the rest of his whiskey in a satisfying gulp. Only as the last of the dying embers glowed and faded out did he realize that the crayon happened to be the exact same shade as Eggsy’s eyes.

Harry definitely did not keep the crayon.

Because he wasn’t sentimental at all, if you didn’t count Mr. Pickles. Or the mug James gave him that said _KEEP CALM AND HARRY ON_. Or— ah, sod it.

So if anyone noticed that the thorax and abdomen of the butterfly in the leftmost corner frame in his bathroom had been replaced by a green crayola—

Well, he didn’t ever let anyone into his house, anyway. Except for Merlin. 

Stupid bugger. 

 


	2. surreptitious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two wild cameos wreak havoc. The paths of Harry and Eggsy cross once again......... or will they...???? jk of course they do.....  
> also ao3 is being really glitchy (dw i still love you) so apparently i accidentally posted a second version of this. apologies!!

* * *

 

_**surreptitious:** kept secret, especially because it would not be approved of_

_obtained, done, or made by clandestine or stealthy means_

 

* * *

 

Many people had what were known as ‘superpowers’ in today’s society- about 63%, international analyses estimated. There were even people who called themselves ‘superheroes’ and ‘supervillains’, but both were mostly arrogant bastards and narcissists that no one really respected, so they were scarce.

Of this 63%, the vast majority of powers were deemed insignificant. Small powers—like being able to predict the weather the day prior, or know the temperature of an object by touching it. Technology could achieve the same results anyway. Or something like the ability to find lost objects with sentimental importance. Useful, but non-threatening. The ability to hold one’s breath underwater for an hour or even longer. The population of people with these small powers were dubbed Specials.

Then, of course, there were the ordinary people- the people with no special abilities or powers at all. Average humans. They were called Standards.

But on the other side of the spectrum, a mere .04% of the 63%, there were people that the government called Exceptionals. Exceptionals were globally recognized under a definitive set of categories and subcategories that were constantly being revised as a wider and more imaginative variety of ‘exceptional’ powers were discovered every day.

Exceptionals had powers that could mean danger. Powers that could pose serious harm or a substantial risk to oneself or others. They were divided into five main categories: elemental, physical, mental, energy, and other. Within those categories were numerous subcategories, effectively sorting each individual within a classification of both level of power and level of danger.

Elemental Exceptionals were people who could manipulate, well, the elements. The term was flexible. It could mean anything from the ability to throw fireballs to the ability to grow trees. Or control the wind. The weather.

Physical Exceptionals were people who were super fast or super strong or had hearing or vision far beyond the limits of Standards or Specials. They could crush boulders with their bare hands, or sprint at the speed of sound. They might have impenetrable skin, or could rapidly change their height or size.

Mental Exceptionals could read minds, alter thought and perception, delete memories or forge ones that never existed. Whereas elemental Exies generally ranked from a three to an eight on the danger scale and physical Exies started at one and could get up to a seven, mental Exies were usually considered far more deadly. They ranked anywhere from a four to a ten.

Energy Exceptionals were more or less straightforward. They could create energy, or manipulate sound and light. They could sense heat energy. Some could generate energy or radiation blasts. They ranged from a one to a seven, at best.

The category of ‘Other’ was where one could find the most diverse—and strangest—of powers. They couldn’t fit into a single category, or, likewise, fit into more than one. Some could time-travel or stop time entirely. Some could teleport. Or communicate with animals and inanimate objects. A few had the ability to resurrect dead things. Plants, even lost loved ones. Duplication of self or other objects. Or they could fly.

The last category was considered the most dangerous, because the people in it were unpredictable and their powers inexplicable.

Eggsy was an Exceptional. He had the ability to move things without contact.

He was telekinetic.

He was an Other, with a capital O.

Actually, if he were honest with himself, he thought he really ought to be classified as a mental. Since he moved shit with his mind, right? But apparently ments were defined as ‘mind to mind powers’ or summit like that.  

When Eggsy’s mum figured out he was a telkie and not some low-level breeze manipulator or some shit like that, well, things escalated a bit. He was nine at the time.

“You can’t let anyone know you’re a telkie, you hear me?” she hissed, shaking him. “S’cause they’ll kidnap you, or worse even! Put you under white lights and cut you open like a frog. A frog, Eggsy! They’ll study you and attach them little electro-thingamajiggies to your brain, I’m telling you!”

“Mum…”

“No, Eggsy. Listen carefully. You never, ever let anyone know how powerful you are. Don’t let them know you’re an Other. Pretend you’re a wind elemental. Heck, a magnetron. Whatever it takes so you’re not in danger.” She hugged him tightly, her fingernails scratching his scalp as she twisted her hands in his hair. “Especially… especially at camp, you hear me?”

Michelle was a standard herself, and so she’d never been to one of the camps. She’d only heard of it from friends, and Lee, Eggsy’s dad. He’d been an Exie, too. He could teleport. That was how he’d died probably, his mum once told him. Done something real heroic, her Lee. He wouldn’t have gone any other way. Jumping—that was what he always called it when he teleported—in front of a bullet or summit like that.

Eggsy sighed.

“Sure, mum.”

‘Camp’ was what the world’s population called the training and containment locations where every single special or exceptional ten-year old was carted away in military convoys to be educated and ‘enlightened’ about their powers—one year for the specials, and two for the Exies. The same occurrence repeated itself once more, at the age of sixteen and seventeen respectively.

Eggsy’s birthday was on June third. So he would be ten _and a half_ when he went to camp.

He got his letter in their mailbox. It was all official and posh with embossed, creamy paper and a thick envelope with an actual red, wax seal stamped on the front. With growing excitement, he opened it to find a typed requisition instructing him to go to the nearest clinic for examination within the next three months.

His mum came home from work, and he begged her to go right away. Smiling sadly, she took his hand in hers, and together they rode the bus through a particularly rainy day to the clinic.

After showing the paper to the receptionist, they waited a few minutes before being escorted into a small, brightly lit room filled with a collection of both ordinary and strange, unidentifiable objects. There were several big machines in the room, clicking and whirring and beeping every few seconds.

A rather short, stout doctor with sandy blond hair rapped twice on the door. He stepped in and beamed at Eggsy.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Watson.”

“Hi,” Eggsy muttered shyly. Dr. Watson smile widened.

“Lemme see… you’re nine years old.”

“Yes.”

“And you took the bus to get here.”

“Yes.”

“And your favourite food is mac and cheese.”

“Lucky guess,” Eggsy scoffed.

“I never guess,” Dr. Watson said with a wink. “Anyway, let’s get on with it, shall we? I’m just going to ask you and your mum a few questions to start, alright?” Eggsy nodded. “Oh- _kay,”_ Dr. Watson continued, flipping through a sheaf of papers. “Has anything peculiar and inexplicable ever happened to you? Such as, but not including, singeing of clothes without proximity to fire or heat, a particular aptitude for persuasion, heightened empathy…”

And so it went on for about twenty minutes, his mum vaguely answering most of the questions for him. Dr. Watson set his clipboard down after he finished with the questions, and bustled over to a little trolley with flashcards and other knickknacks. Wheeling it over, Dr. Watson raised a feather for Eggsy’s inspection.

“I’ve got a feeling you might have a special power, Gary.”

“You think I’m a special?” Eggsy asked.

“Indeed,” Dr. Watson agreed solemnly. “I’ve got a hunch, but I need proof. Try and lift this without touching it, will you?”

In his peripheral vision, Eggsy saw his mum give him a warning glance.

“What do you mean?” Eggsy asked Dr. Watson, playing dumb.  

“Just breathe, focus on the feather and what you want it to do. Don’t think too hard about it.”

“I can’t,” Eggsy said. And it was hard to admit that. Much harder than he thought it would be. Because he _wanted_ to prove that he was special, he really did. He _wanted_ people to admire him and what he was capable of.

Dr. Watson sighed.

“You definitely have some kind of power, Gary, like it or not. We just need to find out what it is. Try something else, then, if you can’t move it. Anything.”

And suddenly, Eggsy wanted the whole ordeal to just be _over._

So he imagined the feather slipping from Dr. Watson’s palm. The doctor fumbled, but Eggsy stopped him.

“Wait,” Eggsy said. Dr. Watson paused, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Eggsy pretended to take a deep breath, to calm himself.

“ _Accio feather_!” he shouted, waving his arms in the air and trying not to feel like an idiot. The feather zoomed into his palm. Dr. Watson’s face lit up.

“That was amazing!” he exclaimed.

“Really?” Eggsy asked hopefully, wrinkling his brows in a way that he knew made his eyes wide and shiny and adorable.

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary,” he replied encouragingly. He held up a polka-dotted piece of fabric. “Give this one a go, would you?”

“Is that… a bowtie?” Eggsy asked, pouting. “I don’t wanna lift a bowtie.” He was laying it on pretty thick, sure, but he really just wanted to go home with a nice, red _SPECIAL_ stamp fresh on his file.

Being special meant he’d be safe.

“Hey,” Dr. Watson said, frowning. “Bowties are cool.”

“Not that one,” Eggsy scoffed.

“This is my favourite bowtie,” Dr. Watson said quietly. “You’ve hurt my feelings.”

Eggsy’s pout deepened. He folded his arms across his chest with a _harrumph_ and turned his face away.

“If you lift it, I’ll give you a sweet.”

Eggsy hesitated. Suspiciously, he opened his fist and summoned the bowtie. It whizzed into his palm.

“I’ll give you two if you can lift this one,” Dr. Watson said cheerily, lifting up a three-kilo dumbbell.

Eggsy scowled, levitating the dumbbell for a heartbeat before letting it drop onto Dr. Watson’s foot. The man let out a yell, more of surprise than pain, and gave Eggsy a dirty look.

“Sorry,” Eggsy said innocently. “I can’t. S’too heavy.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to give it another go?” Eggsy shook his head, squirming with agitation. Dr. Watson exhaled, sounding almost disappointed.

“Alright, Gary. You have been a _good_ boy. Have a lolly,” he said, smiling, holding out a clear plastic tub of lollipops.

“Two,” Eggsy replied, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” the doctor muttered. Eggsy grinned, stuffing his hand and pulling out a handful of lollies. He selected the two flavours he wanted, and while Dr. Watson was distracted, he snuck a couple more up his sleeve.

The door opened suddenly, and in burst a very tall, pale, skinny man with dark hair and a swirly coat. Papers flurried around him, drifting aimlessly to the ground in his destructive wake.

“John, that boy stole three extra lollies from you,” the intruder remarked absently, rifling through a drawer in Dr. Watson’s office.

Eggsy turned pink at the allegation. Dr. Watson gave him a real dodgy look, before winking and turning back to the man.

“He’s an Exceptional. Omniscient,” the doctor explained.

“ _But,_ ” the man cut in, annoyed, “I would have known even if I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John muttered. He took a big stamp and pad of ink from his drawer. “Thank you, Gary. You can go now, if you want. All the paperwork will be forwarded to your address, no need to worry about it. Have a lovely day.” He shook hands with Eggsy’s mum, and then Eggsy.

There was a crash. John rolled his eyes as the dark-haired man cried out in delight.

“ _John,_ ” he gasped, delighted. “You didn’t tell me you acquired the soil samples!” The man cackled. “ _I’ve got a jar of dirt!_ ” he chanted, holding it over his head as he bolted from the room with, what indeed, was a jar of dirt.

“Put that back! Sherlock, come back here, you mad git —oh christ, excuse my language,” John apologized, clapping a hand over his mouth. Eggsy snickered. Just before the crazy Sherlock man slammed the door behind him, he blew a theatrically soppy kiss to the doctor. John flushed, collecting the papers in a hurry. “It was wonderful meeting you, Gary, come again if you discover any other powers!”

With that, Dr. Watson dashed away, abandoning the container of lollies on the cot.

Eggsy slid the three extra from his sleeve, peering at them accusingly while his mum waited at the door.

He put one back and kept the rest.

As they walked out of the clinic and into the rain, Eggsy inhaled deeply. It smelled of wet pavement and something damp and earthy. Clutching his mum’s arm, they walked along, keeping to underneath the eaves of shops as much as they could, avoiding the drizzle.

Suddenly, a burst of fire blossomed not ten-feet in front of them with a loud _boom._ Michelle let out a little shriek, yanking Eggsy into her arms and dragging him behind a brick wall for cover as a spray of shrapnel showers over them.

Face stinging from miniscule cuts, Eggsy couldn’t help but peek out from the safety of the wall.

The sight before him made his stomach lurch.

Two men were engaged in a furious, almost dance-like battle—one in a black, tight-fitting, full-body getup, and the other in a charcoal-grey suit with shiny dress shoes that even Eggsy could tell probably cost more money than all his clothes combined.

The man in the black getup fought like a bear. A fire-breathing bear. Embers crackled beneath his feet, and his fingertips blazed with orange and blue sparks.

But the man in the charcoal suit fought like a viper.

He moved like night, swift and sleek, like a predator toying with its prey.

Eggsy suddenly had the revelation that the man in the suit looked familiar—the feather, the man with the feather!

But then the man dove into a roll as he dodged his attacker, the tips of his stylishly slicked-back hair smoking, singed from the flames being wielded from his attacker’s palms. As he did so, his face was exposed in Eggsy’s direction, and he managed to catch a brief glimpse of his features—

They met one another’s gaze all the way from across the street. Oh god, it had to be the man in the suit!

Eggsy felt his heart stutter.

He didn’t recognize him.

And the most confusing thing was that he couldn’t figure out why he could taste the bitter tang of disappointment, thick on his tongue.

 

* * *

  

“What the _ungodly fuck_ was that, Galahad?” Merlin bemoaned into his ear. “This chap and his spandex bollocks are _kicking your arse_.” Harry ducked, sweat coating his skin as a stifling wave of heat threatened to suffocate him. Well, he meant suffocate as a loose term. He didn’t _really_ need lungs. Lungs were for the weak and particular Scottish-tech-wizards. Though Harry really was debating puncturing said Scottish-tech-wizard’s lungs. “Dodge, Galahad, dodge!” Merlin cackled.

Harry’s hand morphed into a steel blade, wickedly sharp.

“ _No!”_ Merlin cawed, and Harry could hear his glee, even through the com. “We need him alive!”

He snarled.

Harry was debating whether they needed _Merlin_ alive when, as he dropped to the ground, rolling to avoid a ball of fire, he saw two small figures cowering in the opening to an alleyway.

Well, one was.

The other, no more than ten, perhaps, had a rumpled head of golden hair and piercing green eyes, his neck craned out to watch him—a sure way to get it lopped off of the rest of his body, in Harry’s experience.

But those eyes—they were fixated on him, trained on his every movement, calculating and intelligent and as sharp as his knife.

Which was, in case anyone was wondering, very sharp indeed.

Something passed over the boy’s face. Something like… disappointment, and for the life of him, Harry could not understand why. Why the boy looked disappointed—and why the hell he felt disappointed by the boy’s disappointment because what the actual fuck was that supposed to mean for him?  

Harry knew that boy.

He nearly faltered with the realization.

“What now?” Merlin shrilled. “Get on with it, you lazy arse!”

Releasing a long suffering sigh, Harry at last got a grip on spandex-man in a position that his suit or any part of his body was not in immediate danger of scorching or catching on fire.

Harry felt rather pitiful as spandex-man struggled, valiantly trying to free himself from Harry’s vice. From the man’s expression, he really thought Harry had been giving it his all.

One jab of the clunky ring prototype later, the man was limp in Harry’s arms.

As Harry stuffed the man into the cab, he saw, in his peripherals, the boy resisting his mother’s attempts to pull him away and flee.

Before he even noticed his feet were moving, he was standing in front of them, a fake ID police badge in his hand.

“Hello, ma’am,” he said to the woman he knew as Lee’s widow.

“Sorry, officer,” she squeaked. “Just leavin’ now, us.”

“My apologies ma’am, but as a witness, our policy is to question you. Nothing you’d feel uncomfortable answering, of course,” Harry lied.

“What bullshit,” Merlin said. “I’ve never heard you fib that terribly. You suck. Let’s hope that they don’t noticed you stuffed a fire Exie into a cab and called yourself a copper. What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Michelle said, nervous. “Sure thing. As long as it’s quick, ‘cos my son ‘n I, that’s Eggsy right here, he ‘n I gotta be somewhere right now.”

“Nah we don’t!” Eggsy chimed cheerfully.

“Hello, Eggsy,” Harry said.

“Wot’s your name, mister?” Eggsy asked, his eyes widening. Such pretty eyes, Harry noted, examining them. Beautiful. Buggering hell.

“Galahad the Stupid,” Merlin suggested, hissing into his ear.

“My name is Merlin Pissant,” Harry replied. Merlin choked.

“Isn’t that a bad word?” Eggsy asked, blinking. Michelle cringed.

“No, it’s French,” Harry said.

“I like your jacket,” Eggsy said, tilting his head to the side. He smiled at Harry, an innocent upturn to his pink lips. Adorable, really.

“Why, thank you, Eggsy.” At least the boy had good taste. Harry couldn’t help but show Eggsy the inside of the jacket. The boy’s lips popped open in delight.

“That’s gotta be like, fifty summit pockets, Mister Merlin Pissant!” Eggsy exclaimed, moving closer and peering at an exaggeratedly close distance.

“Shit,” Merlin suddenly said, voice serious. “Galahad, something urgent has come up. Get back to HQ. You’re going to Saskatchewan.”

What the hell was a Saskatchewan?

“Well, it was lovely meeting you, Eggsy and Eggsy’s… sister, I presume?” Harry said. Michelle blushed, giggling, despite herself.

“Mum,” she corrected. “I’m his mum.” She frowned. “Didn’t you need to question us?”

“Something’s come up, actually. Unfortunately, I’ll have to be on my way.”

“Do you want a lolly?” Eggsy asked, already palming him a sweet. “Bye, Mister Merlin Pissant.” Merlin choked again. Harry chuckled, satisfied, as he jogged for the Kingsman taxi, Eggsy waving at him as he pulled away, the Exie’s still unconscious body sprawled along the floor of the vehicle.

Only when five minutes had come and gone did Harry notice his jacket and trouser pockets felt especially loose, especially light.

“Good buggering fuck,” Harry blurted.

“What?” Merlin responded, his words tumbling out in a rush. “What is it?”

“The little sod stole my wallet!” Harry rifled through his pockets. “And my pen, and my keys, and my lighter, and my—”

“What did he _not_ steal,” Merlin interrupted.

Harry patted his pockets, searching.

He pulled out his fake police ID and stared at it in disbelief.

“Well,” Merlin said after a lengthy silence. “At least you got a lolly out of it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hold up no hate on saskatchewan it's just that my cousin's from there and for realsies when my da told me about it i actually said, who the hell is a saskatchewan?!
> 
> i feel like harry and merlin were probably a lot less chill about stuff a decade before the movie was set. so a lot of swearing, basically.
> 
> the eggy is sooo bad for stealing those lollies...
> 
> this is possibly the longest chapter i have ever posted at once and it's only because i love you all <3 <3
> 
> sorry about the glitchiness of the extra posting please don't be mad :'(


	3. Embark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a new journey.  
> Eggsy makes a decision and some new friends.  
> Harry is not a stalker. Definitely not.

 

* * *

  

_**embark:** to _ _begin_

 

* * *

 

Eggsy slung his gymnastics duffle over his shoulder, tired and hungry after four hours of training, but feeling excellent as he pushed out of the boys’ change rooms.

“Eggsy,” his coach called upon seeing him. “Come here, will you?”

He padded over to him. “Yes, coach?”

“Give this to your mum, okay? Don’t read it.” The man braced a hand on his knee, crouching down and holding out an envelope with _For Mrs. Unwin_ scrawled on it.

“What’s it for?” Eggsy questioned.

“Well…” His coach’s lips thinned, the bushy mustache twitching half-heartedly. “We got a letter from the government regarding your training. I… I’m really sorry to say this, lad, but I can’t coach you anymore.”

The ground swooped out beneath Eggsy’s feet.

“What?” Eggsy cried. “Why?”

“Well, you’re a Special Eggsy, and you… you know the rules. Specials and Standards can’t compete in the same classes, or even be trained in the same facilities. So I put some recommendations in there for you. Friends of mine, most of them. They’re good coaches, Eggsy. You’ll be in great hands, promise.”

“So…”

“You can finish the week. And then… well, you’re talented Eggsy, really. You’ll do fantastic wherever you are.” His coach slapped him on the back, smiling sadly. “See you tomorrow.”

Eggsy, feeling a bit numb, walked to the front of the building and onto the street.

And hesitated.

He went into the cafe across the road and went into the loo—one of them big, single, family ones that locked.

Sinking to the ground in the corner, he carefully opened the envelope with his powers, slicing beneath the flap with nearly surgical precision. A neat flick of his wrist. He could lick it again after.

He was super at reading now, and so even though he didn’t understand all the words, his eyes skimmed the paper with ease.

 

> _To the parent/guardian of_ **_Gary Unwin_ ** _:_
> 
> _We would like to extend our congratulations to_ **_Gary_ ** _on Special classification!_
> 
> _Due to government regulations and laws, however, athletes of Special/Exceptional classification are prohibited from training in the same programs/facilities as Standards._
> 
> _Below, we have listed several suggestions and recommendations of programs/facilities, along with approximate pricing, where_ **_Gary_ ** _may further pursue his training:_
> 
> _Bloomfield Elite (Specials only)_
> 
> _£250/month_
> 
> _Champion Gymnastics (Specials and Exceptionals)_
> 
> _£300-£370/month_
> 
> _Half-Blood Gymnastics Academy (Specials only)_
> 
> _£300/month_
> 
> _Cherub Training Academy (Specials and Exceptionals)_
> 
> _£240-£290/month_
> 
> _Jupiter Elite Centre_
> 
> _£250-£350/month_

 

At that point, Eggsy stopped reading.

There was no way his mum would be able to pay for this, even with her multiple part-time jobs.

And there was no way… no way he could _ask_ her to pay for it.

Breathing heavily, he stared at the letter, throat tight and wondering why the _fuck_ it mattered if he was Special or Standard or Exceptional, and ripped it into little strips, feeling like some part of him, deep inside, was ripping apart, too.

He refused to let the tears fall as he flushed the letter down the toilet, and watched it—and his dreams of possibly becoming a world-class gymnast—swirl away.

When his mum got home that night, he pushed aside his homework, walked straight up to her, and told her he was quitting gymnastics.

In her shock, she did not even ask why.

 

* * *

  

“Behave, promise?” Michelle asked her son, teary-eyed, as she clutched him to her chest. The high-tech train had squealed to a stop at the platform, and men in official-looking uniforms stood at the doors, stamping letters and the backs of grubby hands as children, all Eggsy’s age, piled onboard with their luggage and bags, waving and chattering.

“Yeah, okay, mum,” Eggsy muttered. “Everybody’s watching, come on!”

“Oh, shut it. I’m not gonna see you for a whole year! I can’t hold my baby for a minute?” she said, sniffling.

“Mum!” Eggsy protested, though he admitted he was getting a bit teary, too.

“Make friends, Eggsy, okay? Have a good time. Be safe, work hard.” Michelle smacked him on the cheek, wiping away the silver that lined her eyes. She gave him one last squeeze. “I'll see you at Christmas hols, okay? Off you go.”

“Bye, mum,” Eggsy said, returning the hug even as his fingers gripped the handle of the brand-new bag she had insisted on buying him, just for the trip. 

He scampered to the train, thrusting his letter at the official.

It felt like a lie, really, telling them he was a Special.

While the man checked his letter, Eggsy caught a glimpse of the train’s interior.

The rows went six-by-six, each pair of seats separated by an aisle and facing one another in groups of two, with a table in the middle. Everything gleamed, polished and sparkling. Steel and leather. Luxury like Eggsy had never seen before, except for in films. Children already filled the seats, jabbering away. He rocked on the balls of his feet, anticipation burbling in his veins.

The man raised a brow. “Son, the Specials compartments are further back. These are for Exceptionals only.”

Eggsy blinked. “What?”

The man pointed to the left, farther into the tunnel. “Compartments E to Z, son. Can’t miss ‘em. Painted in purple.” He handed Eggsy his letter back, the one Dr. Watson had stamped a few weeks before.

_“Five minutes until departure,”_ an electronic voice sounded over the loudspeakers in the station.

“Better hurry,” the man urged.

“Fanks, I guess,” Eggsy muttered, hauling his bag and running for Compartment E.

There was a line of three kids before him. The first one looked to posh to ever associate with the likes of Eggsy, so he focused on the two behind him. One was dark-skinned, and the other pale with brown hair. Both very scrawny, with worn clothes like Eggsy’s.

“Man, s’taking for _evers,_ mate,” the pale one said.

“Bruv, just wait. The train ride. S’like fifty hours,” the second replied.

“For real?” Eggsy spluttered.

They turned to him, surprised.

“Nah, I was just teasin’. You a Special?” He tilted his head, holding out a hand. “Jamal. This is Ryan.” He jabbed a finger at the pale boy.

“You friends or summit?” Eggsy asked.

“Just met, but actually we go to the same school. You are?” the one named Ryan prompted.

“Uh… right, sorry. Gary, but you can call me Eggsy.”

“Next,” the woman taking letters said. Jamal strutted forward, handing her his letter. “Left hand, please.”

Ryan filled the silence with talk. “You got any siblings, then?”

“Nah.”

“I got a Special sister, she went on to Camp two years ago. She had loads of fun. I honestly dunno what they do there, still, though. You think they gonna make us do push-ups? I can’t do two of those, mate.”

Eggsy laughed. “Maybe they’ll feed us loads of spaghetti or summit and then force us to run up a mountain.”

“That sounds bloody awful. Might be illegal, actually, now that I think about it. Child abuse?”

“I dunno.”

“Next,” the woman called. Ryan winked at him and had his turn.  

Nervously, Eggsy waited with nothing to occupy himself, save for study his letter. The words had long since been imprinted in his mind. The elegant flourishes of the signature at the bottom, the date, the seal.

Ryan bounded up the steps, joining Jamal.

“Next.” The woman took Eggsy’s letter. Behind her, his two new friends waited for him. “Left hand, please,” she prompted.

Eggsy obeyed, holding out his palm to her.

She flicked a switch on the stamp, and rather than ink, shone a purplish light on the under skin of his wrist. It flickered, curving and adjusting to the shape of his skin, and was accompanied by a strange, acute, tingling sensation. There was a quiet _beep_ and the woman waved him on, feeding his letter into a slot beside the door.

“Bag,” she said. She took his duffle as a panel in the side of the train whizzed open, revealing neat stacks of suitcases and bags shrouded in shadow. Eggsy’s duffle joined them.

“Nice, bruv,” Jamal laughed as he scampered up the stairs, the door sliding shut behind him. They high-fived.

“What is this shit?” Eggsy asked, angling his wrist as he examined the stamp, iridescent in the glare of the incandescent overhead lights. It was dead centre, perfect and straight.

“I heard it’s practically permanent. Doesn’t wash off, scrape off, rub off. Not until they want to take ‘em off. Burns right into your skin, mate.”

“Hurry up, lads, all the good seats are gonna be gone,” Ryan exclaimed.

The Specials compartments were different from the Exceptionals. They were less high-tech looking, for one. More… normal. Like the inside of an ordinary train. Still steel, but instead of leather, it was just patterned fabrics.

Purely by luck and timing, they managed to snag an empty table beside the window all to themselves, just as two girls wearing identical dresses breezed past, looking for two seats together.

“My brother’s got a friend who went to Camp a couple years back. He said the food’s blessed,” Jamal said. “Even on the train.”

“Yeah, my sis said the same. So, then,” Ryan said, just as the all-clear sounded, both in the compartment and in the station. “I can hear music from other people’s phones ’n cars ’n stuff. Like if they’re passing by or sumtin’. What powers you got, mates?”

“I can walk through walls made of brick.”

“Bruv, that’s sick,” Ryan said.

“Yeah. I tried wood and plaster and even a shed, but I just hit my face. What ‘bout you, Eggy?”

“Eggsy,” Eggsy corrected with a grin. “I can… summon things. Like, erm… if you drop your sock, I can pick it up without touching it. But only… only light stuff, like… bowties.” The fib tasted sour on Eggsy’s tongue, even as his new friends gasped in excitement.

He glanced around. The compartment was chock full now, brimming with kids. One kid’s hair was on fire. There were bubbles floating through the aisle from somewhere further up ahead. And something that smelled like pie, and then chocolate cake, and then—popcorn?

“Hey, bruv, you know that lady?” Jamal suddenly asked, peering out of the window. Eggsy’s attention snapped outside to the platform, where indeed, his mum was jumping around, waving madly in attempt to catch his eye.

“Yeah, that’s my mum!” Eggsy said, leaning over Ryan’s lap to press his face against the window, waving. “Hi mum!”

“ _Damn,_ Eggsy, we know where you got your good looks from, now. She’s well fit, bruv.”

His mum blinked, and then started pointing frantically at her left wrist and giving him a big smile and a thumbs-up.

The stamp.

“Yeah, mum, I’m Special,” Eggsy said, even though he doubted she could hear him.

_“Bye, luv_ ,” she mouthed. _“Have fun! Miss you!”_

There was a clear, metallic _ding,_ and the click of the doors locking. The compartment burst into excited murmurs as the floor below them rumbled.

They began moving.

“Shit, mate, we’re really going!” Jamal said.

Ryan laughed. “What’d you think? The thing wouldn’t work?” he teased, even though Eggsy could hear the anticipation in his voice, too.

“Bye, mum!” Eggsy shouted above the chorus of farewells from other children.

The train was already accelerating, and as mother and son waved goodbye, Eggsy watched Michelle fade into a tiny speck in the distance.

With a sigh, he settled back into his seat, muttering a wry apology to Ryan for wrinkling his pants.

As the train ran into a tunnel, burrowing deeper and deeper underground, the windows nothing but impenetrable darkness, the three boys talked endlessly.

And in the hours that followed, interrupted by a cheerful, “Anything from the trolley, dears?”, Eggsy couldn’t help but stare at the lie on his wrist, marking him something that he was not, changing nothing and changing everything with seven, purple, capital letters.

_SPECIAL._

 

* * *

  

They arrived around five hours later—or at least, stopped five hours later. They were still underground when the train slid to a smooth halt, but as Eggsy stood with the other children, he could see a platform through the windows on the other side of the train.

Ahead of them, a ginger boy talked animatedly with his messy, dark-haired friend. A little box was dislodged from his pocket as he navigated around the tables.

Eggsy picked it up. “Hey, mate, you dropped this.”

The ginger turned around, brows raised in surprise. “Oh, bloody hell, sorry.”

Eggsy passed it to him when he heard an ominous _ribbit_ and froze. “What the—“

“Chocolate frog,” the boy explained with a lopsided grin. “I can make chocolate live, or something. I didn’t do much experimenting ‘cause my mum got mad at me making the kitchen such a mess all the time. Keep it. I brought loads. Tastes good, promise. Just don’t let it hop away.”

Eggsy laughed. “Cheers.”

“C’mon, Ron,” the dark-haired boy called, beckoning for him to hurry.

“Yeah, sure, Harry.” Ron gave them a wave and dashed off.

“Damn, Eggsy, you got free chocolate,” Jamal whined.

“I’ll share it with you, bruv, don’t worry,” Eggsy said, but his mind was elsewhere.

_Harry._

“What ‘bout me, lads?” Ryan demanded.

“Yeah, course.”

Harry Hart and his feather.

Eggsy wondered for the thousandth time what Harry had done with his favourite crayon. Thrown it out, probably. But… Eggsy still had his feather, still had the medallion he wore around his neck, even at this very second.

“Alright, then. Let’s go to Camp,” Jamal declared, and together, eager for adventure, they marched down the steps and onto the platform.

_Harry Hart._ It had been so many years ago, but Eggsy still remembered the man as if it had been only yesterday.

Eggsy wondered if he’d ever see him again.

Wondered why he _wanted_ to, too.

 

* * *

  

Harry sucked on a cherry lollipop sullenly as he sat in the co-pilot’s seat of Merlin’s favourite jet.

No, of course it was not the cherry lolly Eggsy had gave him weeks before.

And no, he most definitely had not gone to Tesco and bought an entire tub of cherry lollies for himself afterwards because of… sentiment. No, his glucose levels were low, _anyway._ And they’d been on sale for two dollars less, so it had been a perfectly acceptable decision and bargain on his part.

And if he refused to share the handful he brought along with a certain Scottish—and very bald, thanks very much—prick, it was because he did not share things. Ever. Especially not these cherry lollies.

Also, he had not noticed the sucker staining Eggsy’s lips the most delectable red, no, he did not remember that specific detail, did not remember the exact shade, like a crimson blush—

He did not wonder when the next time he’d get to see Eggsy again would be.

Because as they were cleared for landing, as they descended through layers and layers of rock, waiting in a viewing chamber as line after line of Special and Exceptional children filed silently and obediently into a large amphitheatre for orientation, he couldn’t help but stare at a little blond head, glinting like wheat-spun gold, couldn’t help but feel the surge of pride that Eggsy had made it here, that Eggsy was different. Couldn’t help but save the last lolly he’d brought and sneak it into the canvas duffle resting on the bedpost in one of the barracks marked with a tag labelled _UNWIN_ an hour later while the recruits ate dinner _._

Harry didn’t share.

But Eggsy had given him one first, anyway.

_It is merely an exchange_ , Harry assured himself as he settled into reviewing the notes on each and every one of the 221 Exie recruits, matching descriptions to faces in the big screen in the viewing room, zooming in on the ones of interest.   _A life for a life, a lolly for a lolly._

If he happened to zoom in on the pretty, raven-haired, Exie girl sitting beside Eggsy a few extra times, with one half of her face cut off and the boy beside her in full view, it was because—oh, sod it.

He did not bother trying to comprehend the overwhelming wave of disappointment that crashed over him when he casually stole Eggsy’s file after being unable to find it in the Exie pile, though he did bother reading the rest of the boy’s file, even after he saw the one word that changed nothing and changed everything.

Special.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, so, so sorry for the late update....... I'm moving out of the country in less than a week and have been crazy busy. please forgive me and my unbeta'd ass.  
> on that note... does anyone want to beta and britpick for me?  
> please?  
> *sad eyes*  
> pretty please?  
> <3  
> hope you all caught those dank references ;)  
> apologies in advance about the gymnastic training cost bits. i did some research but i have absolutely no idea if it was accurate or not. D: please don't kill me.  
> NEXT UP WILL BE SOME HARDCORE TRAINING, MORE EGG and of course, the inevitable confrontation in which someone is caught being a stalker. which he isn't in the first place. nope.

**Author's Note:**

> KEEP CALM AND HARRY ON was probably the most brilliant thought that has ever in the entirety of my sad, short life spontaneously struck my mind. i should make a mug.  
> stay tuned. there are, by my count, a total of five reference quotes in the next chapter. plus two very wild cameos.  
>  **c:{**
> 
> thank you to Firthiee for the original prompt of a wing and soulmate AU that I stubbornly manipulated into a superpower au. <3 no, you are not a pushover. ^_^


End file.
